What Happened To Lucy Knight?
by Kovacsgirl
Summary: The final chapter is up! Short, but sweet.
1. What happened to Lucy Knight?

Where is Lucy Knight?  
  
AUTHOR:   
Kovacsgirl  
  
E-MAIL:   
kovacsgirl@yahoo.com  
  
CATEGORY:  
Lucy Knight   
  
RATING:   
PG-13, maybe R   
  
SPOILERS:   
Season 6.  
  
ARCHIVE:  
E-mail me if you want this for your site.   
  
DISCLAIMER:   
I DO NOT OWN ER!!!  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES:   
I came up with this one while reading "Girl Interrupted."   
  
SUMMARY:   
What if Lucy survived and Carter didn't?  
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We all wonder exactly how it came about. And no one really knows for sure. Dr. Deraad thinks it was during my recovery. But that's assuming I had a recovery, of which I'm not convinced. Kerry figures it was while I was working, and there was no Carter around. I got lonely, and then I broke. I don't agree. It began on Valentine's Day, 2000. They day we were stabbed. Everyone was certain we would both make it through. Or, if anyone would die, it would be me. That wasn't what happened. Carter died. I survived. So that leads us back to our original question. How did it happen? Well, after the stabbing, the first think I remember is Elizabeth leaning over me and telling me that I had lost my spleen. Maybe that's what sent me over the top. A missing spleen. A scapegoat. No, that's not it. Well, Elizabeth was going to go into another surgery when I went into PEA, then I passed out. I awoke to find that I was in the post-op and Carter had died. That's the first thing she told me. "Lucy, Carter… Well, he didn't make it." She went on to tell me about myself. But I didn't care. I didn't even listen to her. All I could think was "Carter's dead, Carter's dead, Carter's dead…" but then it occurred to me:   
  
No. He's not dead. I am. I'm imagining this. Maybe I'm not out of surgery yet. Or maybe I'm dead. Yes I'm dead.   
  
I think, no I believe that that moment was the time when I broke. I knew then, it was all over.   
  
That was wrong too. The hours turned to days, days to weeks, and weeks to months. And I hadn't woken up yet. What I had told myself was a lie. Carter was totally gone. And I wasn't. It wasn't right. He was innocent. I was not. He came in there because of me. He was attack because of me. Guilt. A nasty word. To those who have it. And those who don't. Those who have it, suffer from it. It's an illness. One could even go so far as to say it's a mental illness. It's painful, and no one wants it. To those who don't, they think of those who have it, people like me.   
  
Things when down hill when I came back to work. I was on meds, but never took them. Sometimes I wonder if they could have been my salvation. Probably not. Unless they were to null the second "me" that was developing. Things at work deteriorated, changed. First it was the lights. The lights changed colors. Sometimes they were their normal color. Other times they were fluorescent orange, or green, or pink. Sometimes they were neon colors. At first they changes slowly, and I didn't notice, but later they flashed before my eyes and gave me migraines. Sometimes nausea. Next, it was voices. Luka's was Kerry's, Dave's was Benton's, and Deb's was Romano's. They changed on me, and they twisted and turned on me. Soon, I couldn't tell Luka from Kerry or anyone from anyone else. They were a chaotic mess. My consternation at the voice changes is what drove Kerry to refer me. Next, were the voices, in my head. They spoke to me. Some were calming, others infuriating. They all were double-crossing, telling me how to do my job wrong. I couldn't stand them. And Kerry sent me to Deraad.   
  
He was nice about it all, but quick. Kerry had already told him about me. He just saw me and decided I needed to get out of there.   
  
"You need to see someone about those migraines," he said slyly. He didn't want to tell me the truth.   
  
"Yeah." He was right. Maybe I would ask Deb to look me over after the interview.   
  
"And that nausea."   
  
"Yeah." Why did this seem familiar? "Maybe it's meningitis." The voices kicked in again.  
  
*What? You're agreeing with him? He wants you locked up!  
*No, you're fine Luce. He's concerned.   
*He's a fucking psychiatrist! He'll lock you up faster than you can say your name!   
*No. No, no, no!!! You're fine. Don't believe it.   
  
Yeah, he's concerned, that's all. But still one had to wonder…  
  
"Perhaps," he said, looking over a chart. Why do psychiatrists scare me? "Miss Knight---"  
  
"Doctor," I reminded him. I was a doctor now. I probably shouldn't have been, but go figure. I hate when people forget my title.   
  
"Doctor Knight, I think you need to see someone else."   
  
That's all he said. Kerry went with me later to the hospital, but I never was told by Deraad. In later years, I found Kerry was primarily responsible for my hospitalization, imprisonment, use your own term.   
  
It's Poetic Justice.   
They always say schizophrenia is non-communicable. I guess they were wrong.   
  
********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************  
Okay, I had to put this poll on here, 'cause I can't file it seperatly. So, please vote!!!!!  
  
FOR KOVACSGIRL'S NEXT COMEDY FIC, IT SHOULD BE...  
QUESTION(1):   
(1) ER SURVIVOR! (GO TO 2)   
(2) A SHAKESPEARE PLAY (GO TO 3)   
(3) AN ANDREW LLOYD WEBBER PLAY (GO TO 4)   
(4) A TRIP TO TRANSYLVANIA, COMPLETE WITH VAMPIRES.   
(5) DISNEYLAND AGAIN!   
(6) ANOTHER TRAVEL FIC, NOT ONE OF THE TWO MENTIONED ABOVE.  
(7) SOMETHING REMINICENT OF "RAMBLINGS"   
(8) OTHER (WHAT?)  
(9) KOVACSGIRL SHOULD QUIT TRYING THIS PATHETIC COMEDY  
(10) COMEDY? GIVE ME SOME MORE ANGST PLEASE!  
(11) WHATEVER HAPPENED TO LUKA'S HARMONY?  
(12) WHY AM I TAKING THIS POLL? I HATE ER!   
(13) WE WANT DR. DAVE'S HISTORY 101!!!   
  
  
QUESTION(2):  
IF YOU CHOSE (1)   
WHERE SHOULD THE LOCATION BE...  
(1) AUSTRALIA, LIKE SURVIVOR II   
(2) THE AMAZON   
(3) ANTARCTICA   
(4) COUNTY GENERAL HOSPITAL   
(5) THE CARTER'S MANSION   
(6) OTHER (WHAT?)  
  
QUESTION (3):  
IF YOU CHOSE (2)  
THE PLAY SHOULD BE...  
(1) TAMING OF THE SHREW  
(2) ROMEO AND JULIET   
(3) THE MERCHANT OF VENICE  
(4) HAMLET   
(5) MIDSUMMER'S NIGHT DREAM  
(6) TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA  
(7) OTHELLO   
(8) OTHER (WHAT?)  
  
QUESTION (4):  
IF YOU CHOSE (3)   
THE PLAY SHOULD BE...  
(1) SUNSET BOULEVARD  
(2) CATS  
(3) THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA  
(4) JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR  
(5) JOSEPH AND THE AMAZING TECHNICOLOR COAT   
(6) EVITA   
(7) OTHER (WHAT?)   
  
  
PLEASE VOTE BY E-MAILING ME AT KOVACSGIRL@YAHOO.COM OR IF YOU ARE USING FANFICTION.NET, PLEASE POST YOUR CHOICES IN THE REVIEW SECTION.   
THANKS!   
  



	2. Compadres not Amigos

Compadres, not Amigos  
  
I don't know why we hung out together. We really couldn't stand one another. There were five of us. And we just sat around, smoking. No one seemed to mind that we smoked. The doctors just told us the problems that could arise. Like the warning on the package. Small and insignificant. The nurses just glanced at us and shook their heads sadly. Other patients asked us for cigarettes. And depending on our moods, we would give them one. I had never smoked, until I got put away. I've never kicked the habit. We almost never spoke to each other. Only if something very interesting came up. That was extremely infrequent. I just joined the group one day - no one seemed to mind or notice. Though we weren't friends, we were unnaturally close knit.   
  
Our leader was Jeanette, an obsessive compulsive. I never understood why she was there. She seemed so normal. Then again, that was through the eyes of a lunatic, so go figure. She was about my age - twenty-five - maybe a little older. She was the oldest of us all, and probably the most average.   
  
My roommate was Bonnie. She was partly brain-dead, due to pushing drugs. She was rather demented too, and obsessed with Evgeny Plushenko. He was a Russian figure skater, whom she thought she was married too. Her walls were covered with his pictures and she made sure she watched every competition he was in. Since there was only one TV in our ward, this sometimes upset others. But no one really spoke out against her. It was rumored that she had killed someone in a fit of rage. We asked the nurses about this, but they wouldn't tell us. So, to be on the safe side, we always let her have her way. Secretly, I think she was a spoiled bitch. I hated sharing a room with her. Eventually, I was moved into Jeanette's room, which suited me perfectly. I always have to laugh when I think of Bonnie, even now. She was so demented. But weren't we all? There were days where I thought Carter and I were married, we had a son - Gustave - and he was coming to get me on that particular day. Heh, I amused my self with the strangest concoctions!   
  
Then there was Monica, who - like me - had schizophrenia and as a result, we could relate to each other well. Sometimes we talked about our "old" lives. She said she lost it because of a car crash she was in, where her parents were killed. She was eighteen at the time, two years ago. I told her about the attack and about Carter. We talked the most. I think we annoyed many people.  
  
And last was Gina. She was a short person who never talked to anyone, in here with a personality disorder. She growled at people, and acted like a cat most of the time. She had a black coat that she wore all the time, even in the middle of summer. Monica told me that she probably had more wrong with her than just a personality disorder. They just didn't want to tell her. We never really knew why she hung out with us, she just did. She never spoke, and we never asked her to. She would sit there in her moth eaten coat, puffing on cigarette after cigarette. She eventually died from lymphoma.  
  
And then there was me. But we've already covered how I got here.   
  
I think the reason we sat around together was because we were all outcasts. I mean how many doctors do you know who get locked up in a loony bin? That's what I thought, very few. Gina was the youngest, sixteen. She was the youngest inmate at the hospital (funny, inmates at a hospital!). She had no one to talk to, so she didn't talk at all. We didn't have anything to talk about. We were all ripped from our lives. We didn't want to remember them, because then we would have to remember what drove us to get here. That meant I would have to remember Paul Sobriki. Someone told me that he was at this very hospital. Perhaps someday we would see each other. Maybe on the grounds, maybe at lunch. I didn't want to. I had to admit that he scared me. I was here because of him. I wondered; would I ever get out? Would I be condemned to grow old in this place? Funny to think about. Two years ago, I would have never thought of anything like this. It's kinda like a movie with weird irony. Whoever controls the cosmos must be falling over with laughter watching us. Watching us thy to figure out the mysteries of life. I don't know why humans try. It won't work. I know. I spent all those endless hours trying to figure it all out.   
  
------------------------  
  
"What would you be doing now, if you weren't locked up?" Jeanette ventured one day. That girl had guts to brake the assumed commandment.   
  
I thought about it. What would I be doing? Maybe… I'd be cutting into someone right now, probably. "I guess I'd be at the hospital," I said. I didn't really know. Actually, I'd probably be dead. If Kerry hadn't sent me here when she did, I probably would have commit suicide. To stop the voices.   
  
"I'd be finishing up college," Monica said wistfully. "I was majoring in teaching. I'd like to go back some time. To school. I'd love to teach, but no one would hire me. I'll have this on my record for the rest of my life."   
  
Oh My God! I had never realized that! Romano will never take me back after this, even if my chart said 'recovered.' "I'll probably never get hired back," I said in consolation to Monica - and just to depress myself.  
  
"What type of medicine were you in?" Jeanette asked. "I know you're a doctor, but what kind?"   
  
"ER," I said simply.   
  
"Wow, and you mean that didn't drive you over the edge?" Monica said.   
  
"You get used to it," I said simply.   
  
We never said "crazy" or "nuts." It was precedent. Nuts were never served on food, and no one ever said something like "Are you crazy?!" meaning that's really stupid to do, or why the hell did you do that? When I went back to the "real world" I never used the term, and my coworkers were considerate enough to try and refrain from using it as well, but complete strangers used it, and it always scared me a bit.   



	3. Past the Point of No Return

Past the Point of No Return  
  
We're still unclear on what caused me to break. As I asserted earlier, everyone has his or her own idea on it, but no one knows for sure. Let's go back to the interview with the psychiatrist at the hospital. It went something like this:   
  
"So, Doctor Knight, you've been suffering from migraines and nausea?"   
  
*Is this a statement or a question?   
**Look where we are! I told you talking to that bastard would do us no good!   
*I mean it. Is that a statement or question?   
**Damnit, it's a question, but don't answer it!   
  
I went against my better judgment. "Uh, yes. I'm sure its just stress…"   
  
**What the hell was that?  
*Screw it!  
**Fuck you.  
***Stop it, both of you!   
  
"Are you on any medications, Doctor Knight?"   
  
"Call me Lucy, I prefer it."   
  
**Damnit, what it this?   
*Oh, you're to stressed out.   
**I'm looking out of our safety!   
*SHUT UP!  
  
"Lucy."   
  
"Uh, something for pain after my attack, I forget to take it a lot though."   
  
*Lie!   
**Good Going!   
  
"Attack?" He flipped through my chart.  
  
"Uh yeah. It's kinda a painful memory. I don't really want to go through it."   
  
"That's what I here for."   
  
*Tell him…  
**No, don't. Don't go through the pain again!  
*Tell him…  
  
I explained the attack, trying not to cry when I got to the part about Carter. He looks up from the chart.   
  
"Paul Sobriki? He's patient here, you know?"   
  
No, I didn't. Does that mean I'm as bad as him? "Oh really?"   
  
**Oh God, they want to put you with a killer!   
*He's probably in solitary confinement.  
**Where do you think they'll put her!   
*They won't put her in solitary confinement!   
**Oh yeah, just watch!  
  
"But back to business. Have you been feeling anything other than migraines?   
  
**Damnit, listen to me…  
  
"Well, I've been mixing up voices, and um, lights look different," I explained. I don't really know why. I guess I was between Scylla and Charybdis. Like when an armadillo is rolled onto his back, and he now has no protection.   
  
He nodded and excused himself. He returned with some forms to fill out. Then they took me to a padded room.   
  
"This won't be forever," Kerry began, "just for starters. They'll move you to the ward in a few days."   
  
"What do I have?"   
  
"Just thing of what got you here." I didn't see her for another three years.   
  
------------------------  
  
  
I had time to think over my life in solitary confinement. At first it was just shock. I didn't understand how I could have ever gotten here. I decide it was from lack of sleep, and so for the first forty-eight hours, I tried to sleep as much as I could. When that didn't work, I just sat there. I wished I could have made observing me more interesting, but I had no idea what to do. I guess they were just waiting for me to scream and yell. But I could never speak very loud, since I had that trac put in while I was in surgery after the attack. I really couldn't comprehend what was going on. I was really tired. It's like when you have to write a story for Creative Writing class which you space, then you have write it at two in the morning. Your characters are all tired, and a lot of them sleep all the time. Well, the author who was writing my life was very tired, and so was I. I just lay there, playing with my hair. I had nothing else to do, no one to talk to, so I just played with my hair and listened to my inner voices.   
  
The inner voices. Yeah, now that I think about it, I think they were the things that sent me off the deep end. Sometimes people will come up to me while I'm at work and they'll say, "So, what was it like to go crazy?" Then I'll flinch, because I hate to hear "crazy" in a sentence. Then they'll say something like: "Oh, I'm sorry." But they're not. Then I tell them about my experiences. If I have time. I'll tell them about the inner voices. That's to freak them out. They'll think, I hear inner voices, maybe I'm crazy! I laugh at those people. Their "inner voice" is their conscience. I'm afraid most people need one of those. The inner voices aren't always bad, and sometimes you can ignore them. When you can't, then you need to worry. The problem was, I didn't. You see; had I informed someone of my "condition" I might not have ended up where I am right now. I might have been able to be helped, and I wouldn't have gone crackers.   
  
Did you ever notice how many different ways there are to say, "gone crazy?"   
  
It's like being in someone else's reality in a mental hospital. If a doctor says, "take your meds" you do, most of the time. If the nurses say, "go to bed" you do, even if you don't want to. You're controlled; you don't have much of a free will. You go to lunch at lunchtime; you go to sleep at bedtime. It's very difficult to explain, unless of course you've experienced it first hand. It's like when you're in grade school. Then you do whatever the teacher says. But often that's because you want to. We don't have a choice. Someone else's reality is our life and we're just conjured images that that someone can control.   
  
------------------------  
  
When do you know you've past the "Point of No Return?"   
  
You know when you've settled into your routines, you've been accepted into some "circle" and you don't feel that this is such a shock.   



	4. The Visitor

The Visitor  
  
We didn't get many visitors in our ward. And when people did, none of my "circle" ever got any. So, when I got one, it was a surprise. Even to me. I didn't really think there were many people who would take time out of their busy schedules to check on me. They left that up to the nurses.   
  
"I wonder who it is," Monica said.   
  
"Probably that Carter person you always talk about," Bonnie surmised.   
  
Jeanette rolled her eyes. "He's dead," she reminded everyone bluntly.   
  
I cringed beside myself. I hated be reminded of Carter's death, which leads us in a circle to how I got here. But if you don't know that already, I pity you.   
  
"Sorry," Jeanette said in a softer tone, catching eye of my reaction. There's not much that girl doesn't see. "I forget sometimes."  
  
I nodded. "It's okay."   
  
"I bet its someone who's going to get you out of here," Gina growled, puffing on her seventh cigarette of the day. That was incredible. Usually she was on her second package or trying to get them off us by now.   
  
"Ohhh, maybe you're right!" Bonnie exclaimed. "Run if you have the chance," she advised me.   
  
"Yeah, get the hell out of here," Jeanette added, dropping her usual gise of the most levelheaded one of all.   
  
I shrugged. "We'll see," I said, then followed the nurse into the visiting room. There was Luka Kovac, practically the last person I expected to see.   
  
"Hi," he said shyly. I nodded and sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs. He copied the action. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it.   
  
"How are you?" I asked, trying to get a conversation going.   
  
"Fine. Are you okay here?"   
  
"As well as I might be, considering the circumstances. How is the County crew?" Why did I call everyone at County the County crew? It's so blasé.   
  
"Everyone's fine. They're all worried about you."   
  
"Are they?"   
  
"Yes." That's all he said. I wondered what he really meant. He always had that depressed look upon his face. I wondered about that too. He was close with Abby; maybe I'd have to call her up soon. Imagine that. Getting a call from your former co-worker, who's locked up in the nut house. "Hi Abby, it's Lucy. Yeah. I'm mentally unstable and I'm giving you a call. Oh don't worry; I won't hunt you down... Oh, one of my schizo friends broke out... And I told them your address. By the by how are you and Luka..." Heh, heh, I kill myself.   
  
Anyway, back to Luka.   
  
"Is this a new habit you have?" he asked suddenly.   
  
I glanced at him. "What?" God, that accent is so sexy.   
  
"Smoking."   
  
"Oh, right." I waved the cigarette around in the air for dramatic effect. "Yeah, I suppose so." He's so sexy.   
  
"You know it's bad for you," he said. I wonder what it would take me to get him in bed...  
  
"You think this is bad, you should see Gina. She puffs close to five packs a day. Hell, I'd love to see a cross of HER lungs!" I smiled and took another puff on the cigarette. They're comforting things, cigarettes. Maybe the reason you get addicted to them is because they become your best friend.   
  
"That doesn't make it right. You'll get sick."   
  
"I know, I am a doctor." I am. I'm a schizo doctor! My God, I had never though of it like that! It was really funny. I started to giggle then my laughter got louder. It became twisted. Cold, hard, and best of all, evil. I schizophrenic's laugh - the best thing about my existence.   
  
Luka stared at me and when he could compose himself said, "What is so funny?"   
  
"I'm a doctor and I'm locked up! Isn't that a little amusing?"   
  
"Um, sure." He must have thought I had really lost it. "I must go," he said, getting up. "I'll tell Kerry you're doing well."   
  
Yeah, sure you will. My ass. "Thanks for coming by." We got up and went out separate ways.   
  
Back in the common room, Monica and Jeanette crowded me.   
  
"Who was it?" Monica exclaimed.   
  
"A co-worker."   
  
"Well, obviously," Jeanette said superfluously and rolled her eyes.   
  
"Luka Kovac," I added.   
  
"Oh, a boyfriend?" Monica exclaimed again, even louder. A couple sociopaths glanced our way, and sleep-deprived depressives lifted their weary eyes to us.   
  
"Shhh! Evgeny's in the middle of his program," Bonnie snapped snarling at us.   
  
"Bah," Jeanette said waving her hand in a Dogbert-like manner.   
  
"Is he?" Monica said with urgency in her voice.   
  
I shook my head. "No. I told you, he's a co-worker."   
  
"Sure," Jeanette muttered, slouching to the couch to watch the rest of the ISU Grand Prix with Bonnie.  
  
I left the common room and caught site of Luka, talking to a nurse.   
  
"What did you think Doctor Kovac?" she said. Her name was Betty (get it? Nurse Betty. Har Har, I'm still killing myself!)   
  
"Check her meds," was all he said. He turned to leave and caught sight of me.   
  
I tried to say something, but all my words froze in my throat.   
  
"I'm sorry Lucy," he said and left. I didn't see him for the rest of my internment at the hospital.   



	5. A New Member

A New Member  
  
"We have a new patient coming today," Glenda - a nurse - announced to us all one day.   
  
I've always hated the name Glenda. It's so...ick.  
  
"A new patient! A new patient!!!" Trixi jumped around, singing. I glanced at Jeanette with a look of annoyance. No-one knows what Trixi's in here for. I think her parents just wanted to get rid of her.   
  
"When will she be here?" Jeanette asked good-naturedly.  
  
"Tomorrow."   
  
Great. I was already looking *foreword* to it.  
  
------------------------  
  
Leslie Hunter. That was a beautiful name. So was Leslie herself. She was a relatively tall person, with auburn hair and flashy green eyes. She too was diagnosed with schizophrenia. I felt that I could relate to her easily that way.   
  
But Leslie didn't LOOK mentally ill. She looked as normal as Luka or Kerry; in fact she did resemble Kerry in a certain manner. I guess it was the hair. Or maybe the voice. But she didn't act like Kerry. Kerry was the type of person who took control. Leslie was just the opposite. She was tranquil and acquiescent. If the nurses told her to take her meds, she would. When it was "lights out" Leslie was never trying to sneak extra time to read or talk. Within two days of her arrival, the nurses had her on fifteen-minute checks. The didn't even need to check her anyway. She always stayed in her room, often just looking out of the window. We all wondered why she stared out of the window like that. Perhaps she missed her family. Or she was thinking up a novel. Like "The Bell Jar" or "Girl Interrupted" or "One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest." Want to know the funny thing? I read all of those before I came here. The novel idea seemed like a good one to us. So, we voted, and decided that Jeanette should be the one to approach Betty and ask her.   
  
Betty was the easiest nurse to get information out of. She was a bit of an airhead, and often forgot what was "classified" information and what wasn't. We figured out the prognosis of everyone from her, and many of the diagnosises. So, it was only natural to go to her. Someone must have briefed her thought, because her reply was a curt "That's classified information." It was a bit spooky, because we all thought she was dumb, and in actuality, she was showing a glimmer of a light in the attic.   
  
Then it was decided that someone should ask her. The obvious choice was again Jeanette, but we decided she might be a little overbearing on Leslie. Gina was an obvious no; she'd scare Leslie back to wherever she came from. Bonnie was glued to the TV ("Worlds are on", she explained nonchalantly), so that would be no good. Monica was also schizo and there was me. Finally, they decided I should go visit her, so I did.  
  
------------------------  
  
"Leslie?" I asked carefully, stepping into the dimly lit room. The only light was from the small, bared window, most of it blocked by Leslie's figure. She made no reply, so I tried again. "Leslie, can I come in?" I thought I caught a glimmer of a shrug, but I could have been wrong. Either way, I walked in and sat down next to her. "Leslie, I'm Lucy Knight. Another patient here?"   
  
She nodded.   
  
"Anyway, uh well, some of the girls and I were wondering why we never see you but at dinner. We were wondering if you might want to join us some time. You don't have too, but we'd really enjoy it." I stopped and glanced at her.   
  
She barely moved.   
  
Boy, I thought. If you ever wanted to paint someone, she'd be the perfect candidate. "Well, if you ever need anything, we're right here." I got up and began to leave. When I was almost out of the door, she spoke.   
  
"Lucy, will you come back some time?"   
  
I turned to glance at her. "Sure."   
  
------------------------  
  
"So, what did you do before you got here?" Leslie asked.   
  
"Doctor, in the ER. That's what landed me here. I mean, something that happened while I was there. I was stabbed by a schizophrenic, along with a resident, John Carter. He died, I didn't. After that, I was never really "right" and I lost it. I got really obsessive about the attack. I blamed myself, and I felt empty. I had been waiting months for him to ask me out, and...I guess I was heartbroken. They say people die of a broken heart, but I never guessed that it would land me here. I never imagined I would be in a mental hospital at all. I read many books about them, but I never thought I'd experience it first hand.   
  
"I heard the weirdest voices. It was like having a devil on one side of my brain and an angel on the other. Dark. Scary. I hope I never have to go through it again. I can't wait to get out of here," I finished my little monologue and glanced at her. "What about you?"   
  
"No one knows. One day I was normal, and then the next day came the voices. At night. You know, right before you fall asleep. They call your name, quietly at first. 'Leslie, Leslie, Leslie.' You can ignore them, and you're fine. But they are as persistent as the devil himself. They get louder, and louder. 'Leslie, LESLIE, LESLIE!' You can't ignore them. They become part of your life. You must listen to them.   
  
"Then, then you get the headaches. Each one worse than the one before it, pulling, tearing, ripping, annihilating. Your brain is in shreds, and you can't do anything to help it. Try as you might. Advil, Bayer, and stronger. But no. They won't stop. They hold you prisoner, the ransom? Your life. It's their secret goal. To have your life, to control it. That's what they all are after. All of them.   
  
"Next come the reading. The letters at first just switch places once in a while. They just pretend to move, really they are words, and won't move. But then, they get the idea that they are human, incarnated to a living thing. They are happy, and they begin to dance. The dance across the page, and play musical chairs. They change spots quickly, like a bee flying from flower to flower. Never happy with the position they are in. They must move, must confuse again. It causes the headaches to begin again. And soon your entire head feels like it is on fire. All purposeful life is destroyed. And there must be a way out. The defining moment."   
  
I glanced at her. "The defining moment?"   
  
"Suicide. The only way out. Pills. The glorious pills, which mean life to some, death to others. For instance, you use them to save. I used them to kill. When it comes down to the bare bones, it's simple. To end the voices, other things must end. Life is not so precious then.  
  
"I took thirty-six pills. Bayer aspirin. My roommate found me ten minutes later, and rushed me to County General. Perhaps you remember me?"   
  
I studied her a moment. "Yes," I said finally. "Vaguely. It was about when I was losing it too."   
  
"And here I am."   
  
I sighed. "You're brave! I could have never killed myself. Not after the attack!"   
  
Leslie smiled weakly. "No, Lucy, no. You are the brave one."   
  
------------------------  
  
Leslie stayed with us the rest of my internment at the hospital. I don't think she ever got out. I think they kept her in because they figured she'd be a danger to herself.   



	6. Finis

Finis

**Finis**

** **

Well, what is there left to say? Nothing really. Some of us got out, some didn't. I did, luckily. Jeanette did, and Monica. But Leslie, Gina, and Bonnie never did. Sometimes I go back and see Leslie. Gina and Bonnie both died. Jeanette and I last saw each other at Gina's funeral. We write back and forth occasionally, but not often. 

I returned to County General, and got work under my feet again. It was a good thing to have, and I'm glad for it. No one really ever speaks of my time in the hospital, and I never bring it up. 

So that's it. Nothing more to tell. I've never forgotten the experience, and never will. Perhaps it was meant to exist. Damn Powers the Be! 

---El Fin---


End file.
